This Will Be Quick
by they-call-me-circe
Summary: Set before Marni's illness. Marni makes a terrible mistake and can't undo the damage. Who else will be caught in the backlash of a single night's occurrences? And is anyone truly blameless? Marni/Rotti, Marni/Nathan, Nathan/Mag
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I do not own Repo! The Genetic Opera or any characters thereof. Nor do I own the title (if you know Repo! I'm sure you recognize it). I don't even own this plot- credit for that goes to the lovely Courtney. All I can take credit for is my writing.

* * *

_This will be quick_, Marni thinks as the limo nears the GeneCo building. She and the driver are the only ones in the car, and the space seems too vast without Rotti and his bodyguards sitting beside her. _But I'm glad he's not here. I am._ She needs time to collect her thoughts, figure out what to say… but what else is there to say, after "I'm leaving?" After, "It's over?" After, "I don't love you?"

Now the limo is coming to a stop. The driver is getting out, walking around the hood, opening her door, and she can't move, she can't get out. If she gets out of the car, she'll have to face him. And she still doesn't know what she'll say. The door of the building must be coming to her, because she's fairly sure that her legs can't move, that she hasn't even left the car. And the hallway must be moving past her, elevator doors opening, then closing behind her. Sanitarium Isle falls away; she has to close her eyes. The strange feeling in her stomach must be due to the elevator's sudden stop, never mind that this building was commissioned by the most powerful man in the world, and is as perfect as it is possible for a man-made structure to be. She tries to ignore the strange sensation in her legs as she steps out of the elevator; it's almost a pins-and-needles feeling, except that the pins and needles are being pulled down by a giant magnet below her feet. But she has to keep moving, because the chauffeur- _has he been here the whole time?_- is leading her down the hallway. She realizes, a moment before he knocks on the door in front of them, that they are in the Largos' private quarters. The door opens a year later, and Marni nearly runs in the opposite direction.

"Marni, thanks for coming." The man facing her is not a GeneCo employee, or some random visitor. Rotti Largo himself stands on the other side of the door, smiling at her as though they had never said those horrible things to each other just the month before. Smiling, as though she had never married another man.

"Look, Rotti, I-" But he's kissing her hand, and leading her into the room. He's sliding off her coat before she can even fully register the situation- _he always was good with his hands_- and suddenly she's sitting in one of the velvet-and-mahogany armchairs in Rotti's receiving room. Her eyes stray over to the door on her right. That leads to a hallway, and the room beyond that is his bedroom… Marni immediately looks down at her lap, her face heating up. Part of her wonders why she's suddenly acting like such a schoolgirl. _It's not like you haven't walked through this room a hundred times._ But that was before Nathan-

"Marni." Her eyes snap up and meet Rotti's. He's sitting right in front of her, in the matching armchair. "Your being here… means a lot to me. We've said awful things to each other, things I know we didn't mean. I've missed you, Marni. These past weeks have been… difficult without you. I hope it's not too late-" But she doesn't even hear what he says next, not that it could possibly redeem him. What was all of this greeting-card bullshit he was feeding her? And where was his apology? _Awful things?_ He had called her a harlot, a worthless tramp, told her never to set foot on GeneCo property again. And that last part-

"'Not too late?'" she says, towering over the man she once thought she loved. She barely remembers standing. "'Not too late?' Rotti, I'm _married_. You _know_ this- you glared at me through the entire ceremony! I left you. I don't belong to you." He has the gall to look injured. He stands and weaves one hand through her dark hair and places the other under her chin, making her look up at him, in a familiar gesture that used to make her feel special. Now it makes her feel like a child. She steps back in disgust, forgetting that the chair is directly behind her. When she stumbles, Rotti catches her, and even when she has her feet back under her, he keeps his arms wrapped around her waist. "Rotti, let go," she says, placing her hands on his chest and trying to push him away, but her words lack force. This reminds her simultaneously of their last fight and of countless embraces they shared in a past life. Besides, he always was stronger than her; Marni knows she's not going anywhere.

"Please, Marni," he says, and she's a little surprised. "Please" is not part of Rotti Largo's vernacular; most of the time, a simple order is good enough, unless he's in public. Then she nearly has a heart attack. "I wish we had never fought. I- I'm sorry." In the two years Marni had been his girlfriend, she had never heard Rotti apologize to anyone. Everything could be blamed on someone else's incompetence.

In her shock, Marni doesn't quite notice that one of Rotti's hands is once again entangled in her hair. "I've missed you so much," he says, and this is not the voice of Rottissimo Largo, founder of GeneCo and savior of the world. This is the voice of the man who used to kiss her hello, who always had a smile for her, who had been an integral part of her life for the past two years. And on some level, she misses him, too. Maybe it's the familiarity of his warmth, his smell, his voice, maybe she hasn't got the strength of will or the energy to keep refusing, but she doesn't object when he kisses her, and soon she's kissing him back, and she's not letting herself think or remember. She's not letting herself realize that they're moving closer and closer to the door on the right.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: I do not own Repo! Also, rating has been changed.

* * *

Rays of artificial sunlight fall on Marni Wallace's face and she closes her eyes more tightly. She smiles; despite her automatic reaction, light has always been a reason for her to want to wake up in the morning. And the other reason…

"Mmm, good morning, Nathan," she says with her eyes still closed. When she doesn't get a response, she slides her arm across the mattress. Nothing but bed sheets. _Maybe he's in the bathroom,_ she thinks, _or maybe it's later than I think it is._ She finally opens her eyes, blinking to adjust to the light. At first, she doesn't realize where she is, but when she does, the smile slides off her face to be replaced by pure horror.

"No," she whispers, "no." And the whispers turn into whimpers, which turn into moans, which turn into shrieks. She muffles her face in the pillow that does not belong to her, and when her screams finally die out she lets herself breathe again. She sits up in bed to get a clearer view of the room and hopefully clear her head. The room looks the same as it always did when she had a good reason to be there: the rich green and gold color scheme is still impeccable; the armoire, bedside table and four-poster bed have been carved from the richest mahogany, souvenirs from before the epidemic; the only places she can see the barest hint of dust are where the artificial sunlight (streaming from fluorescent light bulbs above the picture window) hits the furniture. The only sign of disorder is the trail of her clothing, which links the bed to the hall door.

_Shower_, she thinks, and she wraps the top sheet around herself. _Everything looks better after a shower._ She swings her legs over the side of the bed, stands and bends down to scoop her clothes into a wrinkled bundle. The other door in the room, also mahogany, leads to a bathroom. As she opens the door, the thought that she should knock occurs to her. However, no one is there, and she shoves her clothes onto a shelf. She drops the sheet only after she has taken an olive green washcloth from a cabinet, and then she steps into the clawed-foot bathtub and pulls the curtain behind her. It's so tempting to just sink to the floor of the tub, curl into the white porcelain curve and swear never to move again. But this isn't her house, and she needs to wash the feel of him off of her.

_Make it hot, scalding_. She turns the knob, pulls the lever and icy water collides with her face and neck. She gasps and accidentally inhales water, coughs, doubles over. Her feet slide on the slick surface of the floor, and she just manages to catch herself before her head hits the back of the tub. The water finally heats up and she lies in the tub as the droplets cover her. Her eyes burn, and tears leak from the corners. _What have I done?_ The cold porcelain spasmodically caresses her back and liquid heat rains down on her as she convulses with sobs. She allows herself this self-pity for a moment more before she lies still, and then she retrieves the washcloth from the bottom of the tub and pushes herself to her feet. She needs this to be over.

There are unmarked bottles with gold caps on the shower shelf, but when she removes the caps she gags on the smell of _him_. In lieu of soap or shampoo, Marni turns the shower knob counterclockwise, making the water even hotter, hot enough to cause pain. _It's no worse than you deserve_, she tells herself as she scrubs at her skin. _What Rotti said about you, it's true- you _are_ a tramp, a harlot, worthless_. The washcloth is bunched up in one of her fists, and she's rubbing it over her face, her neck, shoulders, back, chest, stomach, arms, legs, everywhere. She's trying to remove at least one layer of skin, just one traitorous layer. She runs her fingers through her hair, hair that will settle into tangled curls later if she doesn't comb it out, trying to cleanse every single strand.

_Last night was…_ almost safe. Familiar. She can still feel his hands sliding over her body, gripping her shoulders, pulling her hair back to gain access to her throat; his lips moving from hers, lower, lower, and she remembers pulling him closer and moaning wordlessly into the air. Pinned beneath him, she can barely move or breathe, but this is a comfort to her. This is a way of hiding from the world, of sinking, of disappearing. This is what he can offer her. _Last night was a mistake._

Under the force of the shower spray, Marni remembers.

She doesn't know how long she stays in the shower, but when she turns off the water and steps out of the tub, she doesn't feel better. She just feels cold. Another cabinet contains sinfully fluffy, gold towels, and she uses one to wring out her hair and rub at the water on her skin. The steam on the mirror is disappearing rapidly, and a few times she catches a glimpse of a woman in the glass, a woman with raw, red skin and eyes, a woman who seems older than her twenty-nine years. She turns her back on the mirror and reaches for her clothes. Bra, panties, dress- her shoes must still be in the bedroom.

One of her black pumps is on its side next to the hall door- she can remember kicking it off- but Marni can't see its mate. She looks under the bed, and when her eyes adjust to the relative darkness, she sees the renegade shoe. It's directly below the center of the bed, and she practically has to crawl under to retrieve it. She's sitting on the green carpet, putting her shoes back on, when the door opens. Marni freezes as a young woman, younger than her, walks in. The woman is wearing the stereotypical French maid costume of old and is pulling a small cart of cleaning supplies behind her. Marni thinks she might look familiar, but she took her cues from Rotti and never really got to know "the help."

"Miss, ah, Parente?" the woman addresses her. Marni almost corrects her- "It's Wallace, now"- but stops herself and instead nods. "Mr. Largo said to tell you he had to go into work, but he would appreciate a phone call from you." Marni nods again, resisting the urge to gag. The woman nods back and advances on the bathroom door, but not before Marni sees her mouth twist into a smirk. Blushing, Marni pulls her shoes on and leaves the room. She picks up her white trench coat from the floor beneath the coat rack in the receiving room and walks down the hallway to the elevator. She rides the elevator to the ground floor, and when the doors glide open at the bottom, Marni Wallace heads straight for the exit, keeping her eyes on the ground, wanting not to exist.


	3. Chapter 3

Nathan is leaving for work when he sees Marni walking toward him. His first instinct is to run to his wife, scoop her up and twirl her around, until he gets a good look at her. Her coat is hanging open, and he's sure that's the same dress she was wearing yesterday. She seems to be limping- and no wonder, if she's walked all this way in her dress shoes! Her hair, which always has to be just so, hangs down at odd angles and seems to be dripping wet. He runs forward to embrace her, to ask her what's wrong, but she holds up her hands almost defensively when he gets close. Now that he's closer, he knows something's wrong. Her skin looks so raw, as though it's been rubbed with sandpaper, and her eyes… _Has she been crying?_ The look on her face worries him the most, though. She seems closed off, somehow; he can't read her the way he usually can.

He's never seen her like this, and it scares him. Even right after she left Rotti, sure, she was upset, but at least there was visible emotion in her face. She was so vulnerable then, but now, she just looks… dead, for lack of a better word. He has to say something. He has to do _something_.

"Hi, honey," he says, forcing a smile. "Did, uh, did you have a nice night with Mag?" She hesitates, and her lack of reaction makes part of him want to back away from her slowly. For a moment his eyes meet hers, but she doesn't seem to see him. Then, her eyes suddenly snap back into focus; still guarded, but at least she looks alive.

"Fine," she says, and her voice is so quiet, with none of the exuberance it usually holds. "It was… fine."

"Are you all right?" he says, stepping closer. "Did something happen with Mag? You must be freezing." He lifts a hand to smooth back her hair and hopefully brush some of the water out of it, but he never touches her. She's flinched away from him, and he can only stare frozen, heartbroken, as his wife looks at him in fear. _Something's happened. _"Marni, what's wrong? Tell me!" Nathan tries to take her hands, but she turns with him and breaks his hold so that now their positions are reversed.

"Nathan, I'm fine!" she snaps, and then she mellows back into that dead look that makes Nathan want to kill whoever put it there. "I just… I don't feel well. I need to go take a shower- lie down." And then she's running from him, even with that limp, to the gate, up the walkway, and into their house. He looks on, helpless, wanting to go to her but knowing that Rotti Largo has been looking for an excuse to fire him. He can't be late; they need the money. Nathan turns away from the house, away from his wife, and trudges up the sidewalk. It's time to earn his keep. _Time to pretend._

Nathan's mind isn't on his work that day- it's back at home with Marni; it's running through every awful scenario known to man. Thankfully there's another surGEN with him in the O.R., and he keeps Nathan from injuring any of their patients. There are some close shaves, though; even the attending GENtern, who Nathan always thought was unflappable, gasps and jumps away from the operating table at one point. He was apparently about to sever a major artery.

"Look, Nathan, why don't you take the rest of the day off?" says the other surGEN, Marcus Whittaker, after that near-fatality. "I'll say you had a family emergency." Nathan hesitates; he needs to get home to Marni, but he needs to work, too. "I've worked with you for the past, what, two years?" Marcus says, calling him back to the present time and place. "I know you, and I know if you're being this careless, there must be some kind of emergency. And no offense, but you're going to kill someone if you don't get out of here. Go home."

"Thanks, Marcus," Nathan says, and heads toward the surGENs' locker room to change. Minutes later, he's walking home, but that walk soon turns into a run. _Marni. I need to see Marni. _

* * *

Sorry for the short chapters- chapter 5 will make up for it. And as always, I own nothing. -Circe


	4. Chapter 4

Nathan's hands are sweating as he reaches for the lock on the gate. But the gate isn't locked; it's barely closed. He runs up the walk- _even the front door is unlocked!_- and into the house. The entryway seems darker and colder than it should. Even when he lived alone, the house never seemed this dismal. He checks the first floor: no one. Next he checks their bedroom: no Marni. He's running all over the second floor, calling her name, panic building in him second by silent second, when he hears water running in the bathroom. He nearly breaks down the door before he reins himself in and knocks instead. There is no answer, and Nathan tries the knob. Locked. The only door in the house, probably, that _is_ locked. He knocks louder, and this time, he hears a faint sob of "Go away."

"Marni, please open the door," Nathan calls. Once again, there is no response. He doesn't want to leave her, but he runs downstairs to the kitchen to get the skeleton key from its hook on the cabinet. When he finally gets the door open, he sees nothing too out of the ordinary. Everything is in its proper place, the heather blue shower curtain is drawn and the shower is indeed running. Still, Nathan feels the same sense of dread that he did this morning: _something's wrong_. The air is thick with shower mist, but the mist is cold enough to make him shiver. And above the rush of the water, he thinks he can hear Marni crying in half-second bursts.

"Marni, what's wrong?" This time, he knows he hears a sob. He pulls back the shower curtain; Marni is standing under the spray, eyes closed, scrubbing at her scalp. Her skin is blotchy and covered in goosebumps. Her lips are blue and she is shivering, but she shows no inclination to turn off the water. Nathan does this for her. He and the room are both rather damp now, but he's too concerned about Marni to care. Her eyes are still closed and her hands remain in her hair, moving back and forth, back and forth, but now, without the sound of water smashing against the bathtub, Nathan can hear a soft scraping sound. He takes her wrists in his hands ever so gently and guides them out of her hair. There is blood under each fingernail.

"God, Marni, what have you done?" Nathan whispers to her hands. At this, she opens her eyes and looks at him, and the look in those eyes is one of utter defeat.

"I'm sorry, Nathan," she croaks. "I tried."

"Shh, it's okay," he whispers, finally able to hug her for the first time today. "It's all right." He can feel her shivering against him, and without completely letting her go, he opens the cabinet next to the shower and takes out a fresh bath towel. This, he wraps around her torso, below her arms. Then he picks up another towel, uses it to softly squeeze the excess moisture from her hair, and drapes it over her head and around her shoulders. _She_ _looks like a picture of one of the old saints._ He kisses her forehead, and after pausing as if to ask permission, lifts her bridal-style and carries her down the hall to their room. Her arms are folded over her stomach, somehow making her seem far away. All the while, she murmurs, "I'm so sorry," over and over into his shoulder.

Nathan wonders what she thinks she could have done. He's beginning to think that the horrible scenarios that kept running through his head at work aren't so far off the mark, and he's got half a mind to hunt down whoever hurt his Marni. _She's torturing herself. She doesn't deserve to hurt like this. _He sets her down on their bed, where she immediately curls into a ball. Within minutes, she's asleep, and Nathan is alone with his fears. At first, he just watches her sleep, watches the tension and fear and guilt leave her face. He gets her comb from the dresser, removes the towel from her head- gently, so as not to wake her- and combs the tangles from her hair. Once, he thinks he sees her smile, but the moment is over too fast for him to be sure. She lies with her hair spread around her like a sunburst against the white towel, his sleeping angel. And he needs to know what went wrong.

He doesn't want to leave her, but he doesn't want to wake her either. He doesn't know what she'll do if she wakes up alone. In the end, he locks her in and goes downstairs. There's a phone in the kitchen. He dials. He hears ringing and then a click as the phone at the other end picks up.

"Hello?" The voice is a woman's, low and smooth.

"Mag, it's Nathan," he says.

"Hi, Nathan."

"Listen, Mag…" He rubs his eyes and leans against the wall. "How was Marni- She- I don't-"

"Did something happen to Marni?" There is a scratch in the calm polish of Mag's voice.

"I don't know- yes- _something_ happened!" Nathan says. "What time did she leave your place?"

"My place?" Mag says. "When?"

"This morning."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"When she stayed with you, last night." There is only silence. "Mag?"

"Nathan, I-" Mag sighs. "I'm sorry, I don't know what to tell you. Marni hasn't been over since last week."

Nathan doesn't remember hanging up the phone, or even leaving the kitchen. The next thing he knows, he's standing in the doorway of his and Marni's bedroom. Marni's sitting up in bed with her arms wrapped around herself, looking at him with guilt and fear on her face, and maybe she's right to be afraid.


	5. Chapter 5

When the phone clicks in Mag's ear, she wonders if she should have said something else. _Was I supposed to cover for her?_ Even when Marni was seeing Nathan behind Rotti's back, she would never ask Mag to lie for her. "If I need a partner in crime, I'm not being careful enough," Marni would tell her. She knew that lying- especially to someone as powerful as Rotti- made Mag uncomfortable, though Mag _would_ cover for her sometimes, when Rotti was feeling particularly frustrated by the absence of his girlfriend. _But this…_ Something about this whole situation seems wrong in an entirely different way. _Why would Marni lie to Nathan? _She loves him; Mag could feel the connection between the two of them before she could even see them together. The thought that Marni could string Nate along is unfathomable to Mag. _But then, she used me, too. Her best friend. Her alibi._ Mag suppresses these thoughts, reminding herself that Marni had apparently suffered, as well.

Half an hour later, Mag's making tea when the doorbell rings. She leaves the kettle on to answer the door, and sees Nathan standing on her front step. His hands are clenched into fists, but they seem to relax a little when he sees her.

"Nathan, come in," she says, sensing his hesitation. In truth, she doesn't know where to begin either. _So, Nate, what happened to Marni? Where did she actually go when she told you she was staying with me? How does that make you feel?_ Nathan enters the small house, and Mag gestures to the living room couch. They sit at opposite ends and stare in different directions. Neither of them speaks for a good minute.

"She slept with him," Nathan says at last. Mag turns to face him, stunned.

"She- what?" she says. "Who?"

"Rotti," Nathan says. He sounds almost murderous. "Marni. Slept with. Rotti."

"Are you sure?" Mag says without thinking. Nathan glares at her. "Sorry! I just meant – er." Upon more careful consideration, this does not entirely surprise Mag. This is not to say that this is a common occurrence with Marni, at least as far as Mag knows. But in all the time that Mag has known her, Marni has always been… indecisive. Or rather, most decisions she makes are subject to change, and not always for the best. Mag chooses not to tell Nathan this.

"That's where she was last night." Nathan's staring at the floor again, and Mag is relieved that she doesn't have to keep eye contact with him right now. "I got called into work to replace a heart, and she said she'd come stay with you. We were in the same building! The same damn building, and she's-" Nathan covers his face with his hands. Mag feels as though she should hug him, pat him on the shoulder, do something, but she doesn't think it would be appropriate. When Nathan drops his hands to the couch, the look on his face is positively frightening.

"I could kill someone," he growls.

"So you come to see me," Mag says softly, trying to smile. "Am I to be your sacrificial lamb, Nate?" He looks over at her, and his face loses just enough rage to look like Nathan again.

"Sorry," he says, and she can tell he means it. "I don't mean to take this out on you, Mag."

"It's all right," she says, and it is.

"I actually came here to ask you if…" Nathan pauses and takes a deep breath. _If what?_ "If… Marni ever said anything to you about… this."

"No! Never."

"Well, did she ever tell you she was… ah, unhappy… with me?" Nathan looks and sounds embarrassed. It takes Mag a second to understand his meaning.

"Oh!" She's determined to look at anything in the room except for Nathan. "No, ah… no." The most awkward of silences follows.

"I just don't understand." Nathan looks up at her, and her breath catches. The way he looks, so lost… For the first time, Mag sees him, not as Marni's husband, but just as _Nathan_. She is grateful when the sound of a shrieking kettle rings through the house.

"I'm making tea," she says, standing. "Would you like some?"

"Yes, please." Nathan nods and stands.

"You stay here, I'll bring it out to you," Mag says. She wants a minute to herself to try to understand the sudden strange twinge she felt a few seconds ago, a minute away from Nate. "You're my guest."

"I show up at your house unannounced, and proceed to scream at you," Nathan says, almost smiling. "I hardly think I qualify as a guest." Mag smiles back, and turns to walk into the kitchen. Nathan's footsteps fall softly behind her.

Mag turns off the burner below the kettle that's now shooting steam. "The mugs are in the cupboard to the right of the sink," she tells Nathan, looking over her shoulder as she reaches for the kettle. A sudden burning sensation flashes across her right hand, and she gasps and draws it back. In her carelessness, she put her hand directly in the path of the steam.

"What's wrong?" Nathan is beside her now, holding two mugs.

"Nothing, I'm fine," Mag says, holding up her burned hand. "Burned myself, just being clumsy."

"Let me see," he says, putting the mugs on the stove, but she turns away and walks toward the sink.

"Really, I'm fine," she says, running her hand under cool water. A slash of red is beginning to form across her palm, and the water makes the burn sting. Nathan appears at her side again, and this time he reaches for her hand without preamble.

"You're right, it's not so bad," he says, studying it, "but it's going to hurt if anything touches it." Mag is only half-listening. For the most part, she is distracted by the sensation of his hand holding hers. "I could bandage it for you, if you have a first aid kit." Mag shakes her head, partly in disagreement and partly to make herself start thinking sensibly again.

"No, that's all right, I'll do it later."

"It's no trouble," Nathan says. _Of course it's not._ Mag gets the first aid kit from the bathroom and Nathan sets up shop on the counter. First he picks up a bottle of aloe vera, pours a few drops onto his own hand, then rubs the salve onto Mag's burn. She gasps as his fingertips graze healthy skin.

"Sorry," he says. "Did I hurt you?" Mag just shakes her head, resolving to just hold her breath until her hand is safely bandaged. It isn't so much that she never thought of Nathan like this… however "this" is. It's more that she never allowed herself to. She never even knew the man before he became involved with her best friend; he was always "Marni's Nathan" to her. _And now that Marni's ruined that… Nothing! Never mind._ Mag shuts her eyes, trying to shut out these thoughts at the same time. She feels Nate's strong, graceful hands wrap a bandage around her own hand, her sense of touch elevated, almost the way it was when she was blind.

"Better?" he says when he's done. Mag opens her eyes. Nathan looks so concerned that she has to smile, then she looks down at her bandaged hand. It's wrapped almost too tightly for her to do much of anything with it, but it's comfortable enough and it's not as though it would have been very useful with that exposed burn. Mag nods.

"Thanks."

They decide to forgo using the stove again, instead pouring glasses of iced tea from the refrigerator. They don't leave the kitchen; here, they have found new and better identities. He is not Nathan Wallace, scorned lover. She is not Blind Mag, the Voice of GeneCo. They are just Nate and Mag, two friends. Here, they can speak as though nothing is wrong, and they do, about books and music, about life before the epidemic, about what they had wanted to be when they grew up.

"Did you always know you were going to be a master surGEN, Nate?" Mag says, smiling. Nathan laughs.

"You know, when I was younger, I wanted to be a pilot," Nathan says. "A long time ago. But then-" he waves a hand toward the window- "with everything that happened… It's a good job. And you, Miss Defoe? Did you always know you were going to be the woman with the world-famous voice?" It's Mag's turn to laugh.

"World-famous? Honestly, Nate." She stops to think for a moment. "You know, I could never decide what I wanted to be when I grew up. I still don't know. I love singing, so this is good for now. Maybe someday… who knows? When I was very young, I wanted to be a dancer- it never really panned out." She gestures at her eyes and laughs self-deprecatingly, but Nathan looks thoughtful.

"I can see you dancing." Mag meets his eyes, a bit surprised. Nathan is very still, and tinted blue like the rest of the room. She suddenly realizes how dark it's gotten.

"Would you like some dinner?" she says. At her words, Nathan seems to snap out of his own reverie.

"No, thanks. I should go, it's getting late." He suddenly sounds so very tired. Mag wants to protest, but who is she to keep him here? She has no claim on him.

"You're going to talk to Marni, then?"

"No," he says. Mag is caught off guard. "I mean, yes, eventually, but not now. I don't think- I don't think I can see her right now."

"Then where are you going to go?"

"I don't know," he says, walking toward the front door. "Walk around, try to clear my head."

"'Clear your head?'" Nathan pauses for a moment, almost turns to face her. "You know the kinds of things that happen in these streets at night."

"I'll be all right," is all he says as he begins walking toward the door again.

"Nathan, wait!" Mag puts her non-injured hand on his shoulder and spins him around. He looks as surprised as she feels. _I didn't know I could do that._ "I don't want you to go out there. Not now. You could- you could stay here. It's not much, but I could make you up a bed on the c-"

Mag doesn't get a chance to finish her sentence. Talking is awfully difficult with Nathan's lips on hers.


	6. Chapter 6

At first she is too shocked to move, and then she is too shocked to realize that she _is_ moving. By the time it occurs to her that she's returning his kiss, her arms are around his neck, her fingers laced through his hair. Every time they pause for air- which isn't often- her conscience wakes up. _What are you doing? With your best friend's husband? Have you lost your mind?_ While she doesn't quite know the answer to the first two questions, the third answer is almost definitely, "Oh, _god_, yes." _And I can't quite bring myself to miss it._ Nate smells like old books and aftershave, and she tries to breathe him in. _He's intoxicating_. For a second, she thinks of trying something new, maybe nuzzling his neck or his ear, but if their lips separate for more than a second, he might pull away, mumble an apology and leave. So she waits for him to take the next step. And he does.

Nathan's eyes are closed as he deepens the kiss, pressing into Mag's mouth in a way that tastes like desperation. His tongue caresses her lower lip, and she forgets how to breathe for a moment. His hands, which had been gripping either side of her waist, now move across her back, kneading, stroking, tracing undefined patterns. Mag arches into his chest and kisses him with a ferocity that shocks her. Nathan doesn't seem to mind; his hands move faster, press harder, reach for the hem of her sweater. Mag stiffens; this is the point of no return. The initial kiss might have been called an accident, but this… this is quickly moving into "mistake" territory. And she wants this, wants _him_, but at what cost?

Nathan notices her change in behavior and pulls back just enough to look her in the eye. _This_ _is it_, she thinks. _This is the part where he says, I'm sorry, but we're making a terrible mistake, and I should really try to work things out with my wife._ But all he says is, "Is this all right?" Mag doesn't have an answer for him, so she grips his collar in her left hand and lowers his face back down to hers so she can kiss him full on the mouth. _Can't let you take all the blame, Nate. It's my fault, too._ Now his hands are gliding up her back, below the fabric of her shirt, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Her own hands slide down from his collar to work at the buttons of his shirt. They're shaking almost too badly to be useful, and the burn and bandage aren't helping much either, but she manages. Now that she's sure he won't get scared and leave, she decides to trust her earlier instincts. She kisses a path down from his mouth, along his jaw and across his throat, and when she reaches the place just over the center of his collarbone, he makes a sound halfway between a sigh and a gasp. Mag places her hands on his shoulders and stands on tiptoes to reach his ear.

For a moment she hesitates. She hasn't forgotten who they are, and she's caught exactly between complete remorse and complete disregard. Her brain makes a last-ditch effort to reason with her- _What about Marni?_- before she makes up her mind. "This way," she whispers and, taking his hand, she leads him toward the bedroom.

Mag wakes up the next morning curled against a warm body. An arm is draped over her waist, and it feels so_ good_ that she doesn't even care that she must still be dreaming. She nestles against the dream's chest, and she feels him shift slightly. Above her head, a voice murmurs, "Marni…" Mag's eyes snap open. _Nathan_. She tries to shrug off his arm, but his hold on her only tightens. She could push him away, but then he would wake up, and then they would have to face each other, and this is the last thing she's ready to do, especially when they're both still naked. _Better to stay put, and pretend to sleep._ She has no ulterior motives. None whatsoever.

The next time she wakes, she is alone, as always. She vaguely remembers having a dream about sleeping next to- _Never mind. Just a dream, anyway._ The bed seems too big now, though, and she throws the sheets off and swings her legs over the side of the mattress. Confused, she frowns. _Where are my clothes?_ And then she sees them, folded neatly at the foot of the bed, and something about this is exactly like… Nathan. And she remembers.

She throws on a robe and leaves the bedroom. _Maybe he hasn't left yet._ They need to at least talk about what happened. _"At least?" What are you expecting?_ But it doesn't matter, because she's the only one in the house. He's folded her clothes, washed the mugs they drank from, and put away the first aid kit, but he couldn't stay long enough to say good-bye. Couldn't even leave a note.

She returns to the bedroom and, unsure of what to do, sits on his side of the bed. Not that it's really _his_ side.

"I suppose… it's for the best," Mag says. The sound of her voice is swallowed by the empty air.

* * *

Author's note: I really hope you're enjoying the story so far! I just want to let you know that with finals coming up, updates may be a bit less frequent. Either that, or I'll neglect my schoolwork in favor of writing/posting this story. I suspect the latter is more likely. Oh, well. The warning still stands.

Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

Marni clutches at the covers, shaking. In her dream, Rotti and Nathan push and kick her down the stairs of GeneCo Tower. Rotti laughs while Nathan cries and neither of them seem to see the other. She tries to reason with them, to beg forgiveness (whose, she doesn't know), to scream, but nothing happens. She reaches up to touch her mouth, but it isn't there; skin stretches uninterrupted from her nose to her chin.

The first thing she does when she wakes up is touch her mouth to make sure it's still there. She sits up and hugs her knees to her chest, letting herself feel, for the first time since waking up this morning in GeneCo Tower, relieved. This feeling goes away when she hears footsteps approaching.

She has never seen Nathan this angry before, and his anger has never been directed at her. Now, he looks… livid. Crazed. She isn't even sure it's Nathan at first. Nathan is not capable of looking like that. There is a towel behind her on her pillow; she wraps it around her shoulders as he enters the room.

He walks so slowly, and that scares her more than it would if he were running at her. She wants to run but his eyes seem to hold her in place.

"Where were you last night?" His voice is low but each word is enunciated so sharply that she doesn't miss a single nuance. _Can't tell him. I can't._

"I- was with Mag-" she begins.

"I just spoke with Mag," he says, slightly louder this time. "Wherever you were, it wasn't with her. Tell me. Don't lie."

"I'm sorry," she tries to say, but no sound comes out.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," she whispers. Nathan takes a step forward and Marni shrinks back.

"What did you say?"

"I'm sorry," she whimpers.

"What was that?"

"I'm sorry!" she sobs. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"About WHAT, Marni?" Nathan yells. "Where were you? To think I was worried about you, and you _lie_ to me-"

"Rotti called me!" she yells back. Nathan freezes, silent. Marni can't look at him; she has to close her eyes to continue. "He said he wanted to talk. He sent a limo last night. He said- he said he missed me. I told him it was over."

"So… so that was it?" Nathan says. He sounds slightly calmer, but Marni still can't look at him. She doesn't answer. "Marni?" She shakes her head.

"I'm sorry." The floor creaks, and when she finally opens her eyes, Nathan is gone. Eventually she gets up and walks to the mirror. Her eyes and nose are red from crying, but her hair has been combed out and is starting to dry in soft curls. _Nathan did that._ Another wave of guilt crashes down on her, but she just sighs and opens the closet door. _Stop feeling sorry for yourself. It's not doing anyone any good._ She gets dressed and goes downstairs. Home looks so strange, after last night. She wanders around as though taking a tour, reacquainting herself with proof of her new life. In the kitchen, she makes a sandwich and goes to sit on the couch. Immediately, she jumps up in a panic- _I have to go to work!_- before remembering that she has Fridays off. Marni spends the rest of the day watching TV and looking around the house for something to do. She almost calls Mag, but she's not ready to explain, even to her best friend. She starts working on a project for work, a logo design for a new funeral home, but can't concentrate. She just wants something to take her mind off of Nathan, Rotti, everything, really…

It gets later and later, and Nathan still hasn't come home. She considers calling him on his communicator, but she's sure he won't answer. Still, she worries. For all his logic, Nathan can be impulsive, and he was so angry. It's all my fault. She paces the floor of the entryway, looking out the window every few seconds. When she gets tired, she sits on the stairs. She wants to be awake when Nathan gets home.

The door closes, waking Marni. She sits up and her back cracks; apparently she'd been leaning against the banister and it's left an imprint on the side of her face. Weak light filters through the windows, and Nathan stands in front of the door. For a second, Marni doesn't think of the events of Thursday night or yesterday. She doesn't think that Nathan must hate her for what she's done. She just stumbles down the bottom steps, runs to Nathan and throws her arms around him.


	8. Chapter 8

At first, Nathan thinks it's just another day. He yawns and stretches, carefully, so as not to wake Marni. Except that it's not Marni he's sleeping next to, he sees when he finally opens his eyes. It's not Marni his arms are wrapped around. It's her best friend; it's Mag. _Is this what you wanted? To even the score?_

And that's _not_ what he wanted, he's fairly sure; but if he denies that, he'll have to think about, to admit, what he did want. And he didn't want, didn't expect, anything. He didn't.

He _didn't_.

He doesn't.

He slides his arm from beneath the woman's side and pulls the sheet up to her chin. She looks like someone else, not anyone in particular, just not like Mag. This woman is totally at peace; Mag always seems to have a thousand thoughts running under the surface, and she might never voice a single one. This is a different kind of quiet… Mag curls up under the sheet and Nathan looks away, embarrassed. _What? It's not as if she can see you. You pick a hell of a time to feel guilty_.

And because he _does_ feel guilty, he folds the clothes he pulled off of her and dropped to the carpet last night (right after he puts on his own clothes), leaves them next to her feet. Next, he goes to the kitchen and cleans up. This is what he does. It's almost as though he's at work. Cut 'em open, mess around a bit, find what hurts and replace it with something better. Stitch up the wound, wash your hands and they're gone. It's over; you might pass them, the saved, on the street, might even recognize them in a way, but then the moment is over. It's such a clean process. Except this time, it wasn't a stranger. Except that it wasn't some selfless act to be performed with detachment; except that he hasn't made it better, not really. And he knows he hasn't saved anyone.

Nathan checks the living room, makes sure he didn't drop anything there. He almost checks in on Mag, but he catches himself. _What good will that do? If she's asleep, she's fine, and if she's awake it'll just be awkward for both of you. It's better this way. _

_Is it?_

The responding _yes_ sounds sure, only hesitates for a second.

As he's opening the door, it occurs to him that he could make use of Mag's shower, but the time for that seems to have passed. He makes sure the door is locked from the outside, then steps into the dismal morning of Sanitarium Isle.

He doesn't go home immediately; he has to think for a while. The conversation that he avoided by leaving Mag's house plays over and over in his mind, in various ways. In one version, Mag tries to get him to stay; in another, she practically pushes him out the door, yelling that she never wants to hear of his existence again. All of the versions include, in some form, the question, "What were you hoping for, Nate?" He simply answers "I'm not sure," for a while, but after an hour or so, he can look the imaginary Mag in the eye (almost) and tell her, "I wanted comfort… release." That answer seems to satisfy her, because she disappears. She never asks, "Why me?" and for that he is grateful. He's sure he won't be able to answer that, no matter how long he walks around. It's a moot point, anyway.

Soon he is back in front of his own gate, and he's not sure he's ready to go in. He reaches for the lock and the gate swings open. _One of these days, that's going to get us into trouble_. Us. Marni. And he can't face her. Yesterday, he condemned _her_ for cheating on _him_; he's no better. Yes, she made a mistake, but now that he's not seeing everything through a curtain of fresh rage, he can understand, even sympathize. She wasn't away from Rotti for long enough; she wasn't ready to talk to him impassively. If anything, she's the better person here. _What's my excuse?_ Nathan shakes his head, doesn't want to think about it anymore. _Only one way to go_. He pushes open the gate and walks toward the door. He imagines he can hear a funeral march playing for him, which is strange, because normally he's not a fanciful person. _This is foolish_. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Marni is sitting on the second step up from the bottom, sleeping. Wearing one of his sweaters, a pair of jeans, and nothing on her feet, she looks somehow fragile. As he walks in, she stirs, blinks, and finally sees him. Unsteadily, she rises and stumbles forward, and then she falls into him. She's clinging to him and he's practically holding her up, and in this moment he misses her _so much. _ He whispers "I'm sorry" into her hair, but he doubts she hears him.

* * *

Author's Note: I would like to thank my wonderful housemates, who faithfully read this humble fic, as well as ConfusedColumbia26220, who has reviewed every chapter so far. Thank you, thank you, thank you for the support. It means a lot. :)


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay; it was all due to schoolwork... and a moderate case of writer's block. Hope you enjoy the latest installment!

* * *

Saturday. It is Saturday and she has rehearsal. And as much as she wants to just lie around the house, as much as she needs some time to put her head back in order, she doesn't have much of a choice. Rehearsal starts at nine in the morning, and god help her if she misses it.

As it is, she's ten minutes late and Michael, the pianist, gives her his "I will shoot you in your sleep if you are ever late again" look. Sometimes she swears the man must be a Largo himself. Certainly, he shows no mercy when she stumbles through the piece, a song in Latin about an unexpected savior of the world. _Three guesses who it's really about_, Mag had thought when Michael handed her the music on Thursday. She had looked at it, of course, since then, but certain… recent events have pushed aside her memory of the melody, the key, even the tempo.

"I taught you to read music, correct?" Michael stops playing mid-stanza to give her another cold glare. "I stressed the importance of practicing the piece on your own time, I believe, instead of wasting mine. So can you tell me why, Miss Defoe, you insist on being impossible to work with? Do I need to remind you that this piece is for GeneCo's tenth anniversary celebration? It is for this reason that we are beginning to work with it now, instead of waiting a month before the performance, but that does not constitute a reason for you to treat it so haphazardly. You may see yourself as the great Blind Mag now, but that only lasts as long as you can use your _voice_."

Ordinarily a scolding like this would make her feel angry and ashamed all at once, like a child caught in a lie, but Mag's mind isn't entirely in the room with them. She nods and says mechanically, "It won't happen again." But it does, even with her holding the sheet music, over and over again, and finally Michael calls for a break.

"What is wrong with you today?" Michael says, flexing and shaking out his hands, as Rotti Largo walks in. He makes Mag uncomfortable at the best of times, and there have definitely been better times than this.

"Mag, Michael, how goes the rehearsal?" he says. His smile keeps well away from his eyes.

"Just fine, Mr. Largo," Michael says in his deceptively smooth voice. Mag worries for a second that Rotti's going to ask to hear their progress, but she knows he doesn't really care. He turns toward her and she remembers a game she used to play with her parents, Six Degrees of Separation. Connected one way, Magdalene Defoe works for Rotti Largo. Connected another way, Magdalene Defoe slept with Nathan Wallace, who is married to Marni Wallace, who slept with Rotti Largo. She feels sick.

"Mag, what do you think of the musical selection for next year's celebration?"

"It's lovely, Mr. Largo." She's sure he chose it himself. He nods, seemingly satisfied with her answer.

"Well, I think if the rehearsal's been going well, you should both take the rest of the day off." It's only ten thirty; usually they rehearse until one. But Rotti Largo isn't usually one to brook arguments. "I'll have my driver bring you home." Mag has the sudden urge to say, _You seem awfully cheery, slept with anyone else's wife lately?_ She suppresses it in favor of living.

The ride home is too quiet, and when the car stops, she can barely make herself enter her own house. With every step she relives the previous day.

_Nathan, come in._

_Marni. Slept with. Rotti._

_Am I to be your sacrificial lamb?_

_I just don't understand._

…_A long time ago…_

_I can see you dancing…_

…_Don't want you to go out there…_

_Is this all right?_

Mag's eyes snap open. She's standing in her living room with the door open and one hand pressed to her mouth in a mocking mimicry of Nathan's lips. The memories are all there, too fresh, too much, building to a boil. _You shouldn't have… You did… You _did_…_ She screams then, slamming unpracticed fists against the wall, the door, the floor, every stable surface she can reach. The scream has no words, and it sounds as though it's coming from several Z addicts being tortured with hot coals. She just keeps screaming because it feels _good_ and it's _there_ and she _can_ and because she never has before and maybe never will again. And when she's done, when all the scream has gone out of her and she sits, shaking, on the carpet, she wonders whether she was screaming for Marni or herself, and who she meant to hear her.


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: I'm back.

* * *

Marni leaves for work when Nathan does. She can't pretend it's not awkward, but she tries. They're both trying, saying "Excuse me" when they go through the door, hugging when they reach the gate and go their separate ways. And she's grateful that he doesn't seem so angry, she really is, but it seems strange. _What happened yesterday afternoon… last night? Where was he?_ Maybe he talked to someone who helped him calm down- _now someone else thinks I'm a slut_- but Nathan doesn't have a whole lot of friends. In the time she's known him, he's always been so focused on work that he doesn't have time for anyone else (except for her, he always has time for her). Maybe it was someone from work, one of the other surGENs. The epidemic picked off the remaining members of his family (his mother and grandparents had already passed). As far as she knows, she's all he has- and this thought sends fresh guilt shooting through her, whether or not Nathan's still angry.

She's luckier. She still has family, as far as she knows, somewhere on the east coast, maybe in New York. She's still got Mag. _Mag… she'll be wondering what happened. It's probably a testament to the degree of a mistake: the number of people you drag with you into the breach._ She resolves to call her friend as soon as she can. As soon as she and Nathan have talked.

She half-expects everyone at Chroma Designs to know about her- affair? one-night stand? _indiscretion?_- and maybe they do. Maybe she's not just imagining the sideways glances from her coworkers. Maybe everyone really does stop talking when she enters the break room. Maybe people are talking about GeneCo and Rotti Largo more than they would normally. But maybe that's just her guilt taking over. Again.

A couple of hours into the day and she just wants to be somewhere else. She wishes she could be nine years old again, before the epidemic, before she had ever heard of Rotti Largo and his magical miracle company. Or maybe she could just go back to Thursday, when she had gotten the fateful phone call.

"Marni? It's Rotti." She should have hung up then, but she was caught off guard. Strange to think that this man could still surprise her. "We need to talk. My driver will be there in ten minutes. I'll see you soon." And then he had hung up before she could say anything at all! _That_, at least, didn't surprise her. This is part of how he got where he is today, she supposes. He doesn't give people a chance to say no.

That thought stops her. She forces herself to think back to Thursday night, back to when they were still using words. She had said no, hadn't she? She had told him to stop… Hadn't she said something to that effect? And he didn't listen- _he never listens_- and then-

_NO._ She refuses to believe that, because if she does, that might mean that the past two years of her life were spent in thrall to someone else, that she's not in control of herself, her own body. _And I am in control, damn it!_ But if she said no, and he didn't listen, wouldn't that mean that she was… but she wasn't. That only happens to other women. _Not me._ It was her decision, her mistake. _But not entirely._ What was the phrase? "It takes two to tango?" Even if she controls her own decisions, she certainly can't control anyone else's, least of all those of the most powerful man in the city.

She honestly can't say whether the idea that her mistake isn't just _hers_ makes her feel better or worse. She should be able to stop beating herself up quite so much, but now she feels as though her life is just slipping through her fingers. It seems like such a childish realization to come to, that other forces can affect her, but it's never hit her as hard as it does now. Marni knows that things between her and Nathan have changed forever, and the possibility that she could lose him hurts too much to think about. So she just keeps drawing, in the hope that her work might distract her.

An hour later, ten sketchbook pages are half-filled with the words "control," "stop," and "mine" in various fonts, along with one half-hearted logo design for Schiavone's Funeral Parlor. She sighs, rips out the pages, and stuffs them into the trash. Even if Nathan hates her, even if he has nothing in his heart but contempt for her, Marni just wants to go home.


	11. Chapter 11

Nathan races Marni home. Not that she knows she's racing, but he still wants to get there first. When he steps through the front door, though, he's not entirely sure why. The house is too quiet, too cold, too empty. On the days when Marni gets home before he does, there is usually music playing, curtains thrown open, and of course Marni herself running over to meet him. Before today, when he was the first to get home, he would usually try to simulate the effects of Marni's presence- with little success. The music he put on and the windows he opened always seemed to stem from some sort of plan, and they did; he's just systematic by nature, whereas Marni's more spontaneous. Then when Marni entered the house, she would glance around and then look at him as if to say, "Did you really miss me that much?" But then she would kiss him and it wouldn't matter because he would be home with her.

Nathan suspects that whatever is said this evening, they'll never be able to go back to that.

He only had two surgeries scheduled for the day, and he focused so intensely while performing the transplants that Marcus and one of the GENterns (maybe her name is Elyssa?) just stared at him. Marcus asked him if anything was wrong once; Nathan didn't answer and Marcus never repeated the question.

Nathan's victory in his one-sided race doesn't really surprise him. It's only three o'clock. More surprising is the fact that only two people came in for surgeries today. Usually, there are at least three scheduled and a walk-in or two on Saturdays, people coming in to get some work done on the last night of the week to party. He's starting to remember his "reasoning" for calling the race. He supposes he wanted to have the best strategic position, to set up camp at the top of the hill, as it were. But he's not fighting a battle here. If anything, he's willing to surrender.

A few hours pass with no sign of Marni, and he paces in front of the door. She finally walks in and they both freeze. There is still a hint of the fear present on her face that he saw the day before, and once again he wants to destroy the reason for that fear. _But today, I know that I'm the reason. _This makes him feel like the worst kind of monster.

They finally break eye contact and go into the living room, sitting down at opposite ends of the sofa. _Just like at Mag's_, Nathan thinks automatically, and suddenly he wants to confess everything and beg forgiveness at her feet, the way Marni tried to do yesterday. But she's speaking now.

"Before either of us says anything else," Marni begins, her voice shaking, "I want you to know that I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else, and I never wanted to hurt you. I guess you wouldn't be able to tell from the way I've acted." She looks like she's trying to smile, but isn't quite succeeding. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't really think I'll ever forgive myself. I have no excuses for my actions." She takes a deep breath and finally looks up at him again. "You know the basics of what happened: while you were at work, Rotti called me and said we needed to talk. His driver brought me to GeneCo Tower and took me up to see him. He fed me all this garbage about how he wanted me back and anyone with half a brain would have known that was just politics."

"So why didn't you?" Nathan says softly. He isn't being mean, he genuinely wants to know. Marni seems to understand.

"You'll laugh," she says, shaking her head. Nathan doubts that. "He just sounded so sincere, not like he was making some kind of formal statement, or... He said- he said he was sorry. And he started kissing me and I could barely get a handle on what was happening and then…" She looks away. "I'm sorry."

He wants to comfort her so badly, but he can't, not yet. First, he needs to know if she'll forgive him.

"I have something to tell you," he says. She just nods. "Yesterday- last night, I- I was upset, and I wasn't thinking clearly, and I- I did something I regret, very much." She's still not looking at him; at this point he's afraid she may never look at him again. "Marni, I- I went to see someone and we were talking, and then I just- I kissed her. And then…" He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes. Marni looks at him at last, now with equal parts shame, shock and anger. "I know, and I'm sorry, I was just… well, I was just stupid, wasn't I."

"So that was your way of getting back at me?" she says so softly he would have missed it, if not for the otherwise perfect silence.

"Yes. Maybe. I don't know what it was," he says. "But it's over now, and it meant nothing, and I needed to tell you and god, Marni, I'm so sorry!" He covers his face because he's not going to cry, he never cries. After what seems like hours, two warm, slender hands cover his and pull them away from his face. Marni is sitting beside him, and their hands are suspended between them like the knot in tug-of-war. "I'll forgive you if you forgive me." And he agrees, and they don't quite smile, but haven't let go, and that's the best he could hope for right now.

Tentatively, Marni asks, "Who is she?"

And Nathan thinks he's done enough damage to last a lifetime, so he says, "You don't know her."


	12. Chapter 12

Mag's pacing, looking for something, anything to do when someone knocks on the front door. Her first thought is that it's Nathan, come back to apologize or maybe just to screw her again, and she storms over ready to give him hell. The person waiting on the other side of the door, however, is Marni.

"Hi, Mag," Marni says, smiling awkwardly as though they haven't been friends most of their lives. "I was going to call you, but I wasn't sure you wouldn't hang up on me. So I hope it's okay that I'm here."

"Of course," Mag says, holding the door open for her. _She knows, she must, and she's going to kill me._ But Marni seems decidedly nonviolent today. If anything, she looks just as guilty as Mag feels.

"I know Nathan called you," Marni says. Mag freezes with her hand on the doorknob, but Marni is standing inside with her back to Mag and doesn't see. "So you must know- well, that I messed up." _And you apparently don't know that I did, too._ Mag isn't sure how much she's supposed to know, so she opts for almost total ignorance.

"What happened?"

Marni sighs. "Do you mind if I sit?" she says.

"Not at all," Mag says, sitting with her on the couch. Marni looks at the floor before going on.

"A couple of nights ago, I told Nathan I was staying with you. I, uh, wasn't." Marni looks up, but doesn't quite meet Mag's eyes. "God, this doesn't get any easier!"

"It's okay," Mag says, taking one of Marni's hands. "Take your time."

"Mag, what happened to your hand?" She had almost forgotten about that.

"Nothing, just burned it," Mag says. "It wasn't anything serious. Go on."

"Are you sure?" Marni says, lifting her friend's hand. "I'm sure Nathan wouldn't mind taking a look at it."

"No, I'm fine!" Mag says, a little too quickly. "I- actually had a surGEN take care of it for me. It's fine. Really. Go ahead."

"If you're sure," Marni says. "I'd actually rather not think about myself right now. But I- I should tell you. I've never kept anything from you, you know that?" Mag doesn't know what to say, so she just nods. "Where was I? Oh, right, 'where was I?'" Marni looks down at the floor again. "I was… I was with Rotti.

"He said he just wanted to talk. I obviously didn't believe him, because I told Nathan I'd be spending the night with you. And I…"

"You spent the night with Rotti?" Mag prompts. Marni laughs bitterly.

"It sounds so simple when you say it like that," she says. "I don't know what possessed me."

"Did he say anything to talk you into it?" Mag doesn't know why she asks this.

"Other than, 'I'm sorry for calling you a whore?'" Marni says. "No, not really. It was more of a physical invitation."

"Those are hard to turn down," Mag says. They laugh as though it's funny.

"And Mag," Marni says, "I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I told you before that I'd never ask you to lie for me."

"You didn't really ask me anything."

"Exactly," Marni says. "I just dragged you in."

"It's all right," Mag says, hugging her friend. And it is.

"So," Marni says at last, with an expression like a smile on her face, "enough about my screw-ups. Let's hear about yours."

"Pardon?" Mag says. _She's known all along, and she's been waiting for the perfect time to confront me. I knew it._

"I mean, how've you been?" Marni says. "I've been so busy with work and everything that I haven't talked to you in, what, almost a week? I've missed you. Tell me everything that's happened since then." Mag should have known; Marni may hurt people, but it's never intentional. If she had known about Mag's night with Nathan, she would have said something right away.

"Nothing," Mag says.


	13. Epilogue

And this is the way it goes. Marni and Nathan and Mag, like clever little chess pieces, are moved and taken and played with for just a short while. How were they to know that a handful of hours would change them, break them, cobble them into something new (if only slightly)? And maybe they once imagined that it would all be over soon, with no one hurt the more for just one night of comfort in the wrong person's arms. Just the one.

* * *

About a month after the Stupid Mistake (as she calls it), Marni is slumped against the cool, tiled wall of the bathroom at home. The vomiting started a couple of days ago, and she told Nathan it was food poisoning from when she and her coworkers ordered out from the seafood place down the street. He hadn't wanted to leave her alone this morning, but she eventually persuaded him to go to work, saying she'd call him if she got worse. She's worse now, but she refuses to call, because she doubts she has food poisoning. Or the flu. It doesn't help that her period is two weeks late.

So she walks to GeneCo, hoping that she doesn't throw up on the way, praying that she doesn't bump into Nathan. There are a couple of close calls with the former, but otherwise she reaches the lower levels of the building without a hitch. She tells her name and her apparent condition to the receptionist.

"Okay, Mrs. Wallace," the woman says while typing. "Would you like to see your husband first? According to the schedule, he's in today."

"No," Marni says quickly. The receptionist raises her eyebrows. _I don't have to explain myself to you, you…_ "No. I'll see him later. I'd hate to bother him."

"O_kay_," the receptionist says, handing Marni a sheet of paper. "Fill this out. It should be about a half-hour wait."

Thus begins the longest half hour of Marni's life. Every time she hears footsteps, she thinks they must be Nathan's, and she has to refrain from hiding under her waiting room chair. Someone taps her on the shoulder, and her heart nearly stops.

"Mrs. Wallace, I called you three times," the receptionist says. "Dr. Ephraim is ready to see you." Marni nods and follows the middle-aged surGEN down one of many hallways and into an examination room.

He asks some questions, runs some tests, and confirms her suspicions: "Congratulations, Mrs. Wallace, you're going to have a baby. You're only about four weeks along, so it's impossible to tell the gender. I wouldn't start buying baby clothes just yet."

"Doctor, everything said in this room is confidential, right?" she asks, her heart pounding.

"Of course."

"Then… could you run a paternity test?" If he's surprised, he doesn't show it.

"Certainly, Mrs. Wallace."

An hour later, he's back with the results.

* * *

Nathan's washing his hands after a liver transplant when he overhears Joel Ephraim talking to Marcus. "…Got Wallace's wife in here today…"

Nathan's heart stops. When it starts up again, he runs into the hallway like a madman and grabs Joel's shoulder. "Marni's here? What's wrong? What happened?"

"Hey, take it easy, Wallace," Joel says. "She's fine. She's…" But Nathan doesn't even need to hear the word "pregnant" to figure it out. Joel works in obstetrics.

"I need to see her."

"Calm down. She'll be out in a minute." Nathan's heading for the waiting room before Joel can say anything else. He'd go and find her, but he has no idea what room she's in. He resigns himself to pacing and watching the digital display of the wall clock. _Is she all right? Is the baby all right?_

_Is the baby even mine?_

Finally one of the doors opens and Marni steps out. They both stand there, just looking at each other for an eternity. _We've been here before_, Nathan thinks. This time he goes to her and holds her close. No matter what the answers to his questions are, he loves her.

"How are you feeling?" he says, pulling away just enough to look her in the eye. Her eyes are a little red.

"I'm okay," she says, nodding. "A little nauseous, but all right."

"That's all that matters." She must sense that something's still bothering him- she always can- because she smiles and says, "Nathan.

"It's yours."

* * *

The phone rings as Mag's getting in from rehearsal, and she almost doesn't take it. On the last ring she picks up the phone with her left hand (she still hasn't taken the bandage off her right). "Hello?"

"Mag? It's Marni! Is this a bad time?"

Mag's voice is slightly shot, but she takes a drink from her water bottle and says, "No, no, of course not."

"Okay, well, you're the first person we wanted to call and tell the news: we're having a baby!"

"Oh my god, that's fantastic!" Mag nearly shouts into the phone. For a moment she forgets the rehearsal from hell, and it's as though she's there with her friend, sharing her joy in person. "Congratulations!" _Somehow, though, I doubt that_ Nathan _wanted to call me first._ "Boy or girl?"

"We don't know yet!" Marni shouts, and she sounds so ecstatic about this that Mag has to laugh. "We just found out and we haven't even thought of names yet or anything and we're just so _happy_!"

"I can tell," Mag says, smiling.

"Stay there, I'm coming right over! I want you to see what I look like when I'm pregnant."

"I just saw you two days ago!" Mag laughs.

"I look different now, I'm sure of it. I'll be there in five!"

She's there in ten, and if her eyes and nose are a bit red, it's probably just from tears of joy. Mag hugs her friend, and they can't resist jumping up and down a few times and screaming happily before collapsing onto the couch.

"So what do you think?" Marni says, giggling. "Do I look like a mom?"

"Let's just stick with 'mom-to-be.'" Mag smiles back. "You look happy."

"I am." After a few seconds, Marni says, "Mag, you know you're my best friend?"

"Really?" Mag grins. "I had no idea."

"Will you be my baby's godmother?"

"Marni, of course I will!" Mag hugs her again.

"And will you promise me something?"

"Maybe."

Marni looks serious now. "If anything happens to me-"

"Nothing's going to happen to you-"

"_If_ anything happens to me, will you take care of her?"

"You said you didn't know if it was a boy or a girl."

"I _feel_ like it's a girl. That's not the point. Please, Mag, promise me."

Mag recalls another promise made when they were very young.

"_Promise we'll be friends forever?"_

"_We will."_

"_But you have to promise!"_

"_I promise we'll be friends forever and ever-"_

"_And ever and ever…?"_

"_And ever and ever and ever…"_ Marni always was into promises. Mag understands, but she doesn't want to even think about the possibility that something could happen to her best friend.

"Mag? You're a million miles away."

"Sorry," Mag says, and the apology isn't just for being a million miles away. "I promise."

* * *

The elevator doors glide open and Rotti Largo looks up from his desk. A surGEN comes forward, holding a file folder.

"The results from the paternity test are in, Mr. Largo."

Rotti nods, dismissing the man, and opens the folder. The founder of GeneCo reads the information contained therein.

And he smiles.

* * *

Author's Note: It's finally over! I want to thank you for sticking with this humble fic until the end- it really means a lot to me. I'm not sure what else there is to say, other than that I hope you enjoyed it.

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.


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